


Lost & Found

by fullmoon02



Category: True Detective
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmoon02/pseuds/fullmoon02
Summary: They ran away from the hospital. What happened after that?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pepperlandgirl4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/gifts).



> Thank you [**LJ_McKay**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LJ_McKay) for the quick beta ^^

Rust hadn’t expected to get any sleep, so he was surprised to find himself waking up. The room was still dark. Looking out the window, he saw a few stars still in the sky. They were twinkling, almost mocking him for still being alive. Changing position, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Hissing, he lifted his hand to cover his now wrapped-up wound. He felt the stitches under the soft bandages.

He was also surprised to be alone. For most of the night, Marty had stayed with accompanied him. They had arrived from the hospital and Marty had loaned him some of his own clothes. They were ill-fitted for his long frame, but they were clean and warm and Rust didn’t care about much else. Marty had guided him to the bedroom and laid him down on the bed.

"I'll be fine on the couch," Marty had assured him.

But when Rust told Marty to get some sleep, there had been a flicker of pain in his expression. Marty looked almost afraid of the idea of leaving him alone. The expression was so fleeting Rust barely had time to recognize it, but he didn't ask Marty to leave again.

His side had bothered him the whole night. Marty gave him some painkillers but they only helped so much. Feeling nauseous, he was reluctant to talk. Not that he was much of a talker anyway.

He had finally decided to at least try and relax, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. He didn't know how long the silence stretched before Marty whispered,

"Are you awake?"

"Hmm-m. Why?”

Receiving no answer, Rust opened his eyes to take a look at his friend.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked in a low voice.

"The stars."

"Oh."

"They reminded me of you.”

Rust had stayed quiet, turning his gaze to the ceiling once again. 

"Actually," Marty huffed a laugh, "almost everything did at first. Not only did you get on my nerves,you also managed to get under my skin."

"How do you mean?"

Marty sighed deeply, and for a moment Rust thought he was not going to answer.

*

Marty hesitated, wondering if Rust actually wanted to hear. Then again, Rust probably wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t want to know. During their years apart, Marty had thought about Rust a lot but rarely mentioned him to anyone. He licked his lips, collecting his thoughts. Then he started to talk.

Marty told Rust about the years after their separation, starting from the first few months after his leave. Everything had reminded him of Rust: the cigarette smell, the cans of his favorite beer, big notebooks stacked on someone's desk, old case files. For a long time, the reminders were painful because of the anger boiling inside him. He felt betrayed, angry, and devastatingly alone. However, he was too  stubborn  to move forward for a long time. Admitting his mistakes was never his strongest suit. The rage burned inside him in red hot flames, exhausting him, making him an effective cop but not that good of a person.

Over time, the rage and anger left his system, like a slow stream, which left him with a phantom pain. Some part of him had been taken away and he was grieving its loss, learning to live without. He turned to women, hoping he could find someone like Maggie while knowing he never could. He was never satisfied; all his relationships left him empty. His failures haunted him, day and night. He left his job. He contemplated suicide. He searched for a meaning he couldn't seem to find. The emptiness in his soul never filled.

His blinding anger gone, he could see Rust in a different light. He saw things in larger context, in perspective. Despite his anger towards Rust, he also acknowledged a deeper emotion. He had loved Rust once. Perhaps, in a way, he still did. Some nights he found himself hoping he could call Rust. His friend seldom showed empathy, but he was efficient in coming up with answers and would know what to do. Marty was one of the few people who had seen the softer side of him, the caring and vulnerable Rust. He recalled the small touches on his shoulder, or their ability to have conversations just by looking at each other. If you knew how to read him, Rust was brilliant. Smart, effective, and stubborn as a mule. Sometimes Marty wondered how Rust felt leaving their case behind, unclosed.

Some days, his longing for his old life was like a physical being, its presence heavy and all-consuming. But it had taken him a while to realize what, or who, he was longing for. Of all people, he missed the one who had dragged him so far out of his comfort zone he had no hope of finding his way back. He felt lost without Rust. 

*

Pausing, Marty fell in his thoughts. He remembered how their old, nightmarish case was reopened. He was dragged deep into darkness, a kind of darkness he didn't know existed. Rust, and only Rust, was at his side. To cap it all, he had almost lost his friend when he finally had a chance to make things right between them. Rust had just wanted to give up, longed to be in peace and rejoin his beloved daughter. His wish unfulfilled, he had woken up to this world, to Marty's world. And while Marty felt sorry for his friend, he was also selfishly grateful.

"Marty?"

He was so deep in his thoughts, the whisper made him jump.

Rust frowned at him. "Are you holding my hand?"

"No," Marty denied, a little too quickly. "I am holding your wrist to check your pulse."

"Whatever," Rust mumbled.

*

Now Rust sat on the edge of his bed, staring out of the window, thinking about their earlier conversation. He wondered if Marty had gotten any sleep. The sound of something dropping on the floor shook him from his thoughts. Marty was awake. And the kettle was boiling. Rust stood up, taking a last look outside.

"Fucking stars," he mumbled, making his way to the door and then to the kitchen.

Marty’s gaze followed Rust as he sat at the table.

"Breakfast?" Marty asked, holding up a bag of bread.

Rust shook his head.

Marty took two cups from the cupboard, dropping a teabag into one. He turned to Rust.

"Tea or coffee? It's instant coffee but if you want it, you got it."

"Instant is fine."

Pouring them water, Marty brought the cups and sat down next to his friend. The steaming mug warmed Rusty's hands and he fixated his gaze on the black coffee. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked up. 

"So, the case is closed, then."

Marty nodded, his gaze kind and sympathetic. He knew Rust would feel empty after the case was resolved. They had spent years catching a nightmare. 

Rust’s voice wavered a little: "I don't know where to go from here." 

"Why do you have to go anywhere?"

Rust shrugged.

"You could finally start that painting hobby of yours. It's not like you have anything better to do," Marty said with a smile. When Rust didn't answer, he continued with a more serious tone. "Listen, where would you even go? There’s nothing for you in Alaska anymore. And I kind of... enjoy your company."

"Yeah, you told me all about it last night."

Marty blushed and for a split second his embarrassment almost made him snap back with an angry retort. Rust’s compassionate gaze stopped him. Rust wasn't mocking him. He seemed to  actually understand. Perhaps he could convince Rust to stay? Perhaps, in the end, Rust could make this place feel like home. Not that he would ever say it out loud like that.

"Just drink your damn coffee.”

He saw Rust's small smile from the corner of his eye.


End file.
